Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Gorgeous Carat. I recognize that this story owes a great debt to Kasey Chambers' "Carnival" album, of which "Colour of a Carnival" is the first song.

Dedication: For Astra, who asked for this story. If it's been ruined by my glaring lack of skill, you have only yourself to blame. :P

Chapter 1: In the Cards

"Alright, everyone; that should do it for rehearsal. Get ready to make some magic tonight!"

With this, the customary dismissal, the rest of the performers begin to exit the main tent; some move more slowly than others, largely due to physical disabilities, but I smile lovingly at each of them as they pass. I recognize with no small amount of regret that most ordinary people wouldn't even be able to look at some of them without their faces contorting in disgust, but they are my best friends, my family. I can't imagine life without each of them, exactly as they are in this moment.

As they file out, I go up to the ringleader, who favours me with a smile. When I joined this troupe as a tightrope walker two years ago, he introduced himself as Joseph; since then, I've heard rumours that this name is not his own, and that he changed it to escape from some dark aspect of his past, but I don't really care about any of that. He took me in when I was just a scared little girl with no place to go, and he's never been anything but kind to me. What does his name matter, compared to that?

"Laila," he says. "I especially enjoyed your improvised finale today."

I feel my cheeks reddening. "I'm glad you liked it." I look up at him, and smile. "May I go study with Madame Dionne until it's time to get ready for the show?"

Joseph's smile becomes a grin. "You've taken an interest in fortune telling, it seems. Please don't tell me that I'm about to lose one of my most gifted performers."

I shake my head. "No, nothing like that. I just…" I shrug. "It's interesting."

"Really?" His expression becomes more serious. "What about it interests you?"

I meet his eyes, and consider my answer carefully, more for my own sake than his. "I like the idea of it… that you might be able to know what's going to happen before it happens. That, if bad things are coming, at least you won't be surprised." A spike of regret scrapes against the inside of my chest, and I frown.

His gaze becomes compassionate. "Do you really think that it would help anything, knowing in advance?"

I blink. "Of course. If we could prepare for things, they wouldn't be so hard to deal with when they came."

He stares at me gravely for a few moments, and then he laughs, as though we've just been engaged in an ordinary, light exchange. "Alright, then. Go keep an eye out for any incoming disasters, and report them back to me before showtime." He claps a hand on my shoulder, and I revel in its warmth. "Have fun."

"I always do," I reply honestly as I leave the tent.

----

I enter Madame Dionne's small tent cautiously, mindful of how easily her work can be disrupted. She is, however, absent, and so I wait, entertaining myself with the miscellaneous, often arcane trinkets which decorate the compact tables and shelves arranged against the tent walls. By the time I've inspected each of these, she still hasn't returned, and I turn my attention to the deck of Tarot cards on the central table. Their primitive images have a certain washed-out quality, but I find them comforting, like the security blanket that I can barely remember clutching.

The tent flap rustles, and a flash of sunlight alerts me to the presence of someone else. I set the cards back down on the table, knowing how particular Madame Dionne can be about her things, but the figure standing between me and the tent's only exit is most assuredly not that of the tent's rightful occupant. Rather, I find myself facing a thin man, about my age, with dark hair and green eyes which both shimmer in the tent's dim candlelight. He is young, I realize in the next breath, but the way he carries himself, not to mention the wisdom beyond those beautiful eyes, tells me that he is not to be underestimated. I ask myself whether he might be dangerous, and decide that he poses no immediate threat.

"Good afternoon," he says. His French is lightly accented, but nowhere near as bastardized as my own. "Are you the fortune teller?"

I open my mouth to answer him, intending to tell him that Madame Dionne will be back in a moment, and so am shocked to hear myself say, "Yes, I am. Please, have a seat," as I take her usual place at the table.

He sits on the stool across from me, and I push the Tarot deck across to him; my hand quivers, but just barely. "Shuffle the cards; if you have a particular question, focus on that as you do." I wonder, as I repeat the words I've heard Madame Dionne speak so many times, what possessed me to lie to this stranger. As he hands the shuffled deck back to me, and I close my hand around it, an answer springs into my mind, as fully formed as though it were whispered into my ear.

Fate.

I close my eyes against the ridiculousness of the thought, against the urge to blame destiny for my own faults. When I open them, I realize that the stranger is staring at me, and guarded concern is present in his eyes. "Are you well, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, yes." I clear my throat. "Just… focusing."

Gentleness replaces the concern in his eyes, and though it seems that he wants to smile, he does not. "I see. I apologize for interrupting you."

I swallow, and shake my head. "Oh, not at all. I'm ready." I draw a deep breath as I arrange the top four cards of the deck in a horizontal line on the table between us. "Did you ask a specific question of the cards?"

"You tell me," he replies, in a tone that is almost infuriatingly confident.

I turn over the first card from the left, and reveal the Emperor. "A dominant male, who obeys a strict code of conduct and commands the respect of others…" I glance up at him, and meet his amused eyes. "Does that sound something like you?"

"Perhaps," he agrees, and smirks.

"I'm not surprised," I mutter under my breath as I turn over the next card: the Two of Wands, reversed. "This card usually means dominion of some kind… upside-down like this, though, it means that you've recently freed yourself from something that's been holding you back." I want to ask how close I've come, but the stricken look that passes over his face is all the answer I need, and so I continue with the third card.

"The Two of Pentacles…" I run my fingers over the card's surface. "There's been a great change in your life… it may also refer to the situation that you've just escaped." I tap my index finger against the card's edge. "The change may still be in progress."

"You are very gifted, Mademoiselle," he says, and his voice is just the slightest bit thicker than it was before. Had I not been schooled in the nuances of human behaviour, I would never have noticed it.

"Thank you," I say, almost completely absorbed in the role, and the accompanying power, of the wise woman. I turn over the final card, and the Lovers' blissful gaze catches my own. "You are on your way toward a great love, which will be reciprocated." Something seems to take control of me then, just long enough to twist my face into a smirk not unlike that which this man turned on me moments ago and make me say, "Beware, though. Great loves carry the most potential for danger."

He studies the cards as though I am not there, almost as though he's facing down some spectre of himself, and I am about to say something else when he says, very softly, "Believe me, Mademoiselle, I am well aware of the perils of great love." He looks up, and though he is smiling, I am aware of the depth of emotion that painfully-thin expression conceals. "Thank you. Would that there were more like you in your profession, and less charlatans."

"There are charlatans in every profession," I reply, perhaps too cynically.

He laughs aloud. "True enough." From his breast pocket, he produces a few bank notes, several times the usual price of a Tarot reading. "Please keep the change as a token of my appreciation."

That same recklessness possesses my tongue again, and I force myself to meet his eyes instead of gawking at the bank notes. "I'd rather have your name, Sir."

He seems taken aback, but that quickly melts into a smile that is part roguishness, part amusement, and part sincere delight. "You can think of me as Noir." The name, so obviously not the one his parents gave him, slides off his tongue with the ease of truth, and I smile inwardly as I begin to realize how appropriate it is.

"Thank you," I say, somewhat embarrassed by my own forwardness.

"Not at all," he replies. "And yours?"

I clear my throat, and he chuckles. "Laila," I manage. "My name is Laila."

"It has been a pleasure, Laila." He inclines his head to me, almost deferentially, and I have to force myself not to blush. "You are from the East, aren't you?"

I hesitate. "Yes, I am. Have you visited there?"

He laughs again, and I quite nearly lose myself in the sparkle of his eyes. "You might say that," he says as he gets to his feet. "I should be going."

"Of course," I say, and though I do not rise, I return his deferential nod. "Thank you for your patronage."

The sight of his departing back feels nowhere near as final as it should.